


Legolas' Seat

by erobey



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let us pretend that Legolas was a regular messenger from Mirkwood to Imladris, but as yet had not had opportunity to meet Gandalf, though of course he had heard of him! This story takes place just before the Council of Elrond and is a fun tribute to Sir Ian's portrayal of Gandalf and his comments regarding slash fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

  
The gently gusting air was glazed with the faintest mist as the lightly sprinkling waterfall shed its shimmery, sun-gilded flood over the high cliff behind the elegant, colonnaded terraces of The Last Homely House in the valley of the Bruinen. Sheer, white panels of gossamer silk draped the broad, open arches leading to a balustraded balcony attached to a ward of the Healing Wing. The tenuous fabric drifted lazily in and out of the simply appointed, clean, neat comfort of the sunny room beyond the open veranda, coming and going on the breath of the breeze.  
  
The restful sound of the rushing torrent created a peacefully serene backdrop against which splashed the occasional song of a rapturous warbler, overcome by its good fortune to dwell in such a place amid the fair folk of Rivendell. As understated and omnipresent as the cascading cataracts, the clear, sweet cadence of elven voices, raised in harmonious praise of all of Eru's Making, filled the recesses of every heart and drowned out any hint of discordant thought or sorrowful woes.  
  
It was indeed a most magical and magnificent place.  
  
Seated there, on a chair designed exquisitely to promote comfort, within the pristine perfection of the restful room, Samwise Gamgee wished hard that he had a voice for singing, it felt that wondrous to be among the elves. He sighed a soulful lungful of happiness instead and glanced for the hundredth time in the last hour at Frodo, tucked up tight beneath immaculate, bleached sheets of soft, pliant cotton in the fluffy, down-stuffed bed. The poor Hobbit was at last sleeping in calm and dreamless repose, his curly brown mop of hair all wild about his ashen cheeks and a gentle half-way smile curving his still too-pale lips.  
  
'Now, now, Sam; don't go and be lookin' at the negatives. His valiant heart is freed from the dread an' dire designs of the Dark Lord, and here we are safe in the care of Elrond Half-elven, no less. I'd say there's lots to be cheery about,' the loyal retainer told himself determinedly. He gave a quick nod to himself and smiled when he looked for the 101st time at his dear Frodo.  
  
"Ah! Excellent mimicry, Gandalf. However long did it take you to master this craft?" the rich, noble voice spoke languidly from the balcony and drew Sam's attention to the mighty Lord slouched in a comfortable lounge facing the unparalleled view of the lush river valley. Sam saw the cause of the exclaimed praise: a wispy bit of pipe smoke shaped in the form of a prancing steed was wafting into the room. Sam opened his mouth in silent amazement as the ephemeral little horse trotted by and vanished into the ceiling.  
  
A deep chuckling chortle rumbled out in response to the Elven Lord's remark and Gandalf shifted in his chair, scooting it, with an ear-anguishing screech that made the Hobbit wince, closer to the edge of the terrace in order to observe the goings on out in Rivendell below.  
  
"Well, my old friend, it is a difficult skill to learn, but quite enjoyable. I would be happy to procure the necessary supplies and begin your instruction in the art, if you wish," the wizard said.  
  
"Nay, I think not," Elrond laughingly replied; his hand lifted as though to ward off the offending habit from his person. He dragged his chair closer, delicately lifting as he pulled to spare himself auditory torment, to see what had captured the Istar's interest.  
  
The emerald expanse of the House's lawns gave way behind the meticulous majesty of marble walls to a glossy, aquamarine sea of waving, windswept grasses in the paddocks where the Lord's horses roamed free. Within this pasture small clumps of grazing mares and their foals ambled about, tearing into the abundant bounty of the thick, tickle-the-knee blades. It was a bucolic scene of unhurried, unburdened leisure.  
  
Such was not the object of the wizard's keen inspection.  
  
Amid this gently rolling ocean of open greenery a single stallion raced as though in flight, as though his hooves barely touched the slender stalks; and the wind of his fleet passage parted the grasses in a wake of billowing turbulence as he darted across the ground. This horse was more wondrously extraordinary than any of the others in the elf-touched valley, a superb specimen of equine strength and beauty.  
  
The gleaming coat was black as ebony, from the tip of the dainty nose to the well-trimmed, vitreous sheen of his pounding hooves, and shone with a luster only loving care and boundless devotion could give. His noble head was carried high, proudly gracing the splendid perfection of the arched neck, from which the long, unbraided onyx-hued mane whipped out in the current produced by his speedy progress. The equine's tail was lifted high behind him, waving out as would a standard upon a battlement, and flowed in long streamers that brushed the upswept tips of green he traversed.  
  
This horse was breathtaking.  
  
Upon the back of this uncommon steed was perched an equally rare brand of elf. The eternally youthful creature, in this case truly young among his kind, clung to the stallion's back as though the two were one and the same being. Supple and strong, his lithe frame moved and rippled in conjunction with the steed's pounding pace. His lean arms reached forward and his slender fingers were invisible, buried in the blue-black mane. Long legs gripped firmly round the horse's thrusting whithers and panting ribs. Simply clad in a plain tunic and soft leather leggings, the elf was barefoot and weaponless; an ethereal vision such as had not been seen in Middle-earth since the last of the Vanyar sailed over sea.  
  
He smiled, nay, he fairly beamed, feeling as though the very earth was taking shape beneath the thundering feet of the mighty horse, luxuriating in the sensation of the roiling air flinging his hair out like a banner behind him. The sparkling gold of his unbound locks shimmered and danced in the sun-kissed breeze. His bright and merry laughter floated through the valley, and so filled with joyous abandon and wild freedom was this sound that all the elves of Imladris paused in their singing to rejoice in the carefree, untroubled gladness of the youth.  
  
The elf was utter perfection.  
  
A resplendent contrast they made, a union of night and day, Ithil and Anor, Tilion and Arien. The golden, immortal beauty of the fresh-faced elf shone all the brighter against the stark and inky pitch of the stallion's temporal presence, a brief tableau of the consummate harmony between the finite and the eternal as envisioned by Iluvatar.  
  
Together, the pair easily rivaled the glory and grandeur of Oromë and Nahar.  
  
Upon the balcony, Gandalf let his pipe go out and Elrond smiled a gloating smile of indulgent pride for having so unique a diversion in his Realm.  
  
"Who is that?" the wizard asked quietly, as though unsure if what he beheld was flesh and bone or some vision from another Age.  
  
"Ah, that is Legolas, a messenger from Thranduil's Woodland Realm, and Mirvain with him," replied Elrond with hardly less a sense of awe.  
  
"He has a remarkably fine seat," Mithrandir commented, admiring the elven youth's equestrian ability.  
  
"Indeed, especially for a Wood Elf. Talent in such areas is rare among the Sylvan Elves," Elrond readily agreed.  
  
"Beautiful!" the Istar exclaimed. "They move together as one, and such passion, such joy lights his fair features."  
  
"Aye, the two are devoted to each other. Legolas goes to him first whenever he gets here, no matter what tidings, good or ill, he brings from his homeland. Ah, they are coming now, shall we go down to meet them?"  
  
"Oh, by all means."  
  
"Though, I warn you, Legolas will be a bit embarrassed to make your acquaintance in such a state of undress. He is very self-conscious about his appearance when among his elders," the Elf Lord laughed softly and Gandalf smiled warmly back as the two rose and made their way inside.  
  
They passed Sam and informed him they would return shortly, asking him to seek them out should Frodo wake. Sam nodded with a strangely lopsided smile and found himself unable to make any words pass his lips.  
  
It was an indisputable fact that Samwise Gamgee was an accomplished gardener; one of the finest groundskeepers ever born in the Shire. If it was green and had roots, the Hobbit could nurture it and bring it to bloom. However, that was the Halfling's sole claim to knowledge regarding nature, and he had no comprehension of animal husbandry. More specifically, Sam knew absolutely nothing of horseback riding or the particular phraseology those bitten by the equestrian bug were wont to use to describe simple, everyday ideas.  
  
Nor was he looking over the balcony railing when Legolas and Mirvain rode in.  
  
It was thus not unexpected that Master Gamgee would fail to understand what the Elf Lord and the Maia were discussing, and hence supplied his own definitions. One could hardly blame the Hobbit for his mistake. How was he to know that one's 'seat' in equestrian terms meant how well one stuck to the horse's back, rather than the rear parts used to so stick.  
  
'Now, now, Sam Gamgee. Don't you be quick to judge,' the scandalized Hobbit tried to calm himself. 'Their ways is not our ways, maybe, as the Gaffer would say, and I've always heard the Wood Elves are wild-like, less civilized than these Rivendell folk. Lord Elrond didn't seem to take offense at all. Don't meddle in the affairs of wizards, Sam.' The dear little man shook his head and tried to reason out what he had heard, and began muttering to himself just as the door opened and his countrymen, Merry and Pippin strode in.  
  
"Hullo, Sam, we've come to sit with Frodo while you go have a bite of luncheon," informed Merry as he approached the bed. He gazed with an expression that rivaled reverence at the sleeping Ringbearer's face and smiled.  
  
"Oh, well, that's right good of you boys, but I couldn't think of leaving Mr. Frodo's side."  
  
"Nonsense! Frodo will be that peeved if he wakes and learns you starved yourself and got sick from it, just to watch him sleep," admonished Pip. He frowned through narrowed eyes at his friend and elbowed Merry to get his attention. "Alright, Sam Gamgee, what are you hiding? I know that look, you overheard something important and worrisome and you're keeping it in."  
  
"Oh! I was not eavesdroppin'!" snapped Sam defensively.  
  
"We never said you did, Old Boy," Merry smirked. "Must be something very sensitive for you to be so rattled. Out with it!"  
  
"Aye, you know you can trust us to keep quiet if need be," added Pip.  
  
Sam drew a heavy, disconsolate breath as he gazed from one to the other of his friends. "It's just that, well I, I just never thought someone like Gandalf would be thinking about that sort of thing, is all."  
  
Merry and Pippin looked at each other, ran out to the balcony, and dragged two chairs back inside, scooting them up close to Sam's comfy perch. The Hobbits settled in, folded their hands in their laps, and leaned forward almost hungrily. The only thing they liked better than eight regular meals a day was a nice, juicy helping of gossip, and gossip involving Gandalf was an exceptional diversion from the placid goings on in Imladris.  
  
"Now, Sam, exactly what sort of things is Gandalf thinking about?" demanded Merry and Pip nodded vigorously.  
  
Poor Sam looked from one to the other again, worried. He really wished Mr. Frodo were awake, then he could tell him about it and all would be explained.  
  
"It's probably some sort of mistake," he began, "but I heard Gandalf talking about an elf, about his behind, to be exact."  
  
Merry and Pippin's mouths popped open and curved up in gleeful leering grins and they shared devilishly glittering glances.  
  
"What elf?"  
  
"Are you sure, Sam?"  
  
"Oh, aye, I'm sure. Elrond was here, too, and agreed this elf, called Legolas, has a very nice arse."  
  
His two friends gasped and their eyes grew rounder and even more sparkly in their lascivious delight.  
  
"Next Elrond said this Legolas was uncommonly talented in such areas." Sam added; now that he had started, he found he was quite enjoying himself, relishing his friends' rapt attention to the tale. "And then, well, then Gandalf said as how Legolas and his, um, partner? were moving as one."  
  
"What? They were watching? Where were they? Did you see, Sam?"  
  
"Bullroarer's balls! What did it look like? Do they even make that look graceful and refined?"  
  
"I never did look! That would be downright indecent. I don't know where they were, but Elrond and Gandalf were out on the balcony when they saw them, um, doing it. And I was that shocked to know the two great men were peeking where they oughtn't."  
  
"Oh, Sam! All right, never mind that; what happened next?" complained Pip.  
  
"That's it, I guess; except that Legolas is so devoted to his lover that he goes to him the minute he gets to Rivendell, and they just go at it right then and there, wherever Mirvain happens to be." Mentally Sam shrugged; it was mostly what he heard and but a small part his imagination. "That comes right from the Lord of Imladris' lips. And they left here so Gandalf can meet Legolas, and the elf still naked in the arms of his lover!"  
  
"What? Where, Sam, where did they go?" hissed Merry desperately.  
  
"I don't think I believe it. What, are they going to, that is, all of them together?" squeaked Pippin.  
  
"I don't know where they all went or what they're getting up to all four of them together," Sam said in exasperation. "Besides, it's none of our business. We should just leave it alone; wizards and, and…" here Sam had some difficulty finding a suitable word, "…mating elves are none of our concern."  
  
He was starting to feel worried. What if Gandalf found out he had told what he heard? He did not want the wizard's wrath upon him. "You two must promise me here and now not to go sayin' a word about this to anyone else."  
  
"Sam! We never tell secrets!" scolded Merry, a hurt look in his eyes.  
  
"I don't care; this is serious. Promise!"  
  
"Fine. We promise not to talk about it to anybody but each other," said Pip, and Merry nodded his agreement.  
  
Sam sighed in relief, and just then the Elf Lord and the Maia walked back through the door, laughing jovially over some small joke. They greeted the Hobbits and checked on Frodo, pronouncing him resting peacefully, and dragged the chairs from which the visitors had jumped up back outside.  
  
"That is just what I needed, Elrond," Gandalf said as he settled into the seat and retrieved his pipe. "Legolas is a delight. I have never witnessed such dexterity; his hands are so gifted. So good of you to coax him into giving me a demonstration. And such exuberance, it is quite refreshing and I feel renewed."  
  
"Indeed, one cannot help but enjoy being with him." The Elf Lord stretched out with a contented sigh in the lounge. "Beautiful, intelligent, eager to please, brave, and genuinely true-hearted. And you are quite right, his skill is unmatched in any elven realm, bar none."  
  
Sam sent an 'I told you' look to his friends and wriggled back smugly in his cozy armchair.  
  
Merry and Pippin exchanged another matched pair of grinning glances.  
  
"Well, Sam, we will just be going now," said Merry. "We'll bring you a nice snack to tide you over 'til dinner."  
  
"Yes, we need to go and do some exploring," added Pippin. "We'll return later and let you know what we discover."  
  
With these cryptic phrases the Hobbits left their comrades and raced back to their quarters. Once inside and the door safely shut, they broke into raucous laughter and repeated all they had heard, imitating the voices of the great folk quite disrespectfully and making many crude jokes at Legolas' expense. After a prolonged bout of stomach shifting hilarity, the two decided to find the redoubtable Legolas and learn what all the fuss was about.  
  
Merry and Pippin were always true to their word and indeed never revealed a confidence entrusted to their knowledge. It was not really their fault at all that they forgot about the sensitivity of elven hearing. Nor were they aware that their rooms abutted those of Lindir, one of the finest minstrels in Imladris, or that said elf was out resting on his own balcony at the time and heard every bawdy, suggestive, and downright obscene reference to Legolas' seat the two Hobbits shared.  
  
When Merry and Pip decided the kitchens and pantry were the best places to start their search, reasoning that this remarkable elf must have worked up quite an appetite after all the activity in which he had engaged, they did not notice the silent figure of the distraught, shocked singer hastening from the room next door.  
  
Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
The kitchens of The Last Homely House were vast, high-ceilinged chambers situated behind the architectural masterpiece that was the main house, occupying an entirely detached building with its own water supply piped in directly from the waterfall's source. Here, the great chimneys belched soft, fluffy white clouds of smoky ash round the clock as the keepers of the Lord's household never knew when an impromptu feast might be ordered or when unexpected guests might arrive craving hot water to bathe away the grime of travel and travail.  
  
In the same building could be found the pantries and larders, well stocked with every sort of staple and provision of necessity as well as rare delicacies and fruits not normally found in the region, sweets and pastries, jugs of sweet, cool milk capped with cream, and bottles of sparkling cider put up at the previous harvest. These humble rooms were among the most popular destinations for the occupants of the Last Homely House, and anyone else spending time in Elrond's hospitable abode.  
  
Many a lover's tryst had begun (and sometimes concluded) at the long, low table dominating the large room. Innumerable outings and excursions of amiable camaraderie were planned there, and not a few crushing diplomatic fiascos had been settled over generous servings of fresh berries and cream with a glass or two of Elrond's Famous Blueberry Wine, or some other delectable fare.  
  
Merry and Pippin sauntered across the courtyard separating the kitchens from the main house and entered into the huge, cavernous rooms. To their surprise, the hearth was deserted and no sounds could be heard from the adjoining chambers to indicate where the chefs had gone. They shrugged as they shared an unconcerned glance between them.  
  
Pippin sighed appreciatively, deeply inhaling the combined scents of new-baked lembas cooling on racks set upon the table and a simmering sauce of rich red colour and hearty spices. The Hobbits roamed about, poking into cabinets and shelves, not certain what they were looking for but wanting something to munch on while they waited for the object of their curiosity to appear.  
  
The clever Halflings had astutely deduced the correct conclusion, for before they had chosen a suitable snack they heard the clear ringing notes of a fair elven voice, softly singing a cheery tune, and then the elf himself strolled gracefully into the room through the backdoor.  
  
He halted just inside the opening and stopped his song as he discovered the Hobbits, the likes of which he had not seen before.   
  
Merry and Pippin stared at him in open-mouthed wonder.  
  
Clear eyes the colour of an unclouded summer sky, alight with the luminous joy of his existence within the vital fabric of Eru's Making, gazed upon the Hobbits with child-like curiosity and amiable goodwill. His whole being was a living hymn of praise, and surely Eru's love of Arda was proved with this gift of perfection personified in the grace and beauty of the immortal youth before them.  
  
Yet, more than the physical definition of his form and features distinguished the elf as something special, unique, and peerless among the First Born. The quality of his spirit, the candour of his open heart, and the noble bearing of his nimble mind set him apart in virtue and valour from his kinsmen. He shone like a rare saffron corundum, flawless in its natural state, easily discerned amid a host of precious gemstones.  
  
The Halflings were struck immobile, inarticulate, speechless, and breathless in the overwhelmingly glorious aura that clung to the elven youth framed in the cookhouse doorway. They observed the wild mane of gleaming gold, windblown, askew, thoroughly and uncharacteristically messy. They noted the fine-boned slender feet, bare upon the slate-paved floor. Their eyes roamed the half-opened, sleeveless short tunic that revealed the inherent strength of the archer's arms and a glimpse of the pale, creamy flesh of his firmly muscled chest.  
  
They instantly knew this had to be Legolas.  
  
Simultaneous sighs of rapturous appreciation slipped past their lips and drew a wider smile to the young elf's countenance.  
  
"Mae govannen, mellyn o Elrond. [Well met, friends of Elrond]," he said as he gave a half-bow, politely pressing his left hand to his heart. "Legolas, uin Eryndhôr Ardh, athra Ered Hithaeglir [I am Legolas from the Woodland Realm, across the Misty Mountains]."  
  
The lilting quality of his melodious voice made the simple Sindarin statement seem like a praise of great respect. Though they understood little more than 'hello' and 'good-bye' in elvish, the Hobbits caught the name they were hoping to hear, confirming the identity of the elf in their midst and bringing mischievous grins to the Hobbits' faces as they bowed in turn.  
  
"Mae govannen, Legolas. I am Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire, and this is my cousin, Peregrin Took," said Merry.  
  
"But you must call us Merry and Pippin, or even just Pip, if you like, for so we are known to all our friends," corrected Pippin. "We were about to enjoy a small mid-morning snack; would you care to join us?"  
  
"Thank you, yes; I am famished! All night I travelled on my journey here and crossed the river at dawn's breaking. The whole morning I have been too busy to even think of eating," As the elf spoke he entered the room and turned to one of the cabinets upon the wall, opening it to search for something appetising, much as the Hobbits had done before his arrival. Unsatisfied with the contents, he frowned his lips into a disappointed line and moved to another cupboard.  
  
Pip's eyes suddenly lit up and he flashed his smirking grin in Merry's direction while their new acquaintance's back was turned.  
  
"Oh, Legolas, would you mind too terribly much just checking in that cabinet over there? The lower one, nearest the pie-safe, has some lovely apricot preserves, I believe," he said.  
  
Legolas smiled over his shoulder and moved to the cupboard in question. "Apricots, exactly what I am craving," he said. He ducked down to search its contents once he had pulled the door open, offering his companions an excellent opportunity to examine the shape and firmness of his rear end when his tunic rode up in the back.  
  
"Yes," murmured Merry, eyes glued to the inviting vision of Legolas' arse encased in the soft, skin hugging leggings, "I am having cravings, too."  
  
The elf soon found the jar requested and also discovered a container of blackberry jam. These he carried to the table while Pip hunted for spoons and Merry poured them each a mug of cold, frothy milk. They settled on benches at the table and Legolas served them, taking up the lembas and smearing ample portions of the sticky fruit over the thin wafers.  
  
They munched contentedly for a few minutes and Merry was just about to inquire about Legolas' earlier activities when a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing blond elf strode into the kitchens, carelessly whistling a tune. Seeing Legolas, he burst into hearty laughter and walked over to the youth, clapping him firmly on the back.  
  
"Ah, Legolas! I see you have spent the morning with Mirvain again. Did you give him a thorough workout?" his booming voice good-naturedly joked.  
  
The Hobbits' brows went up and Pip's stifled giggle was halted when Merry kicked his ankle under the table.  
  
"Yes, Glorfindel, he will be quite content to rest quietly for the remainder of the day," answered Legolas warmly.  
  
"From the looks of you, he is not the only one who is wearied. You are positively a shambles, Pen-neth." The mighty Balrog slayer reached out and tousled his fingers through Legolas' golden tangles, eliciting soft laughter from the young elf.  
  
"You are right. I am exhausted as well, but in a most pleasing way."  
  
This time it was Merry who snickered and Pip barely retained a snort, swallowing so it came back out sounding like a rude burp. The elves looked at the small folk with confused indulgence.  
  
"Do not let these Hobbits drag you into any adventures, then," the Hero of Gondolin warned. "You have duties to see to later, do not forget. I expect you to be well-rested and ready for me this afternoon." So saying, the elda grabbed an apple and a bottle of cider and strode out of the kitchens toward the main house.  
  
"I will be prepared," Legolas called after him merrily and resumed eating. The lembas did not satisfy him, however, and he soon rose and snatched an apple from the barrel-full by the door and returned to his spot across from the Hobbits.  
  
"So, you were with Mirvain this morning?" queried Merry, and Legolas nodded, his mouth too full of fruit to speak.  
  
"I heard you are quite devoted to him, seeking his company before all others' whenever you arrive in Imladris?" commented Pippin.  
  
At this remark Legolas looked surprised; he did not think anyone noticed where he went when he was in Rivendell, or that his actions warranted discussion such that folk he had never met had already heard of him.  
  
"That is true. I long for the wild abandon of our morning rides. I cannot be so carefree among the trees of my homeland. How did you know that?"  
  
"Oh, Gandalf was talking about it," Pippin responded nonchalantly. "But why, since you are so close, does Mirvain remain here and you in the Woodland Realm? Wouldn't it be better for you to move here? I'm sure Elrond would approve."  
  
"Why, I could never leave my homeland! I am needed there with all the troubles we face from Dol Guldur."  
  
"Well, then, let Mirvain go with you to reside in the Woodland realm." suggested Merry.  
  
"Oh! That is a lovely thought, but Mirvain does not belong to me. He is Glorfindel's favourite stud and he would never part with him."  
  
Merry choked and began coughing violently upon hearing this revelation having inhaled a gasping breath while his mouth was filled with lembas. Pip began thumping him soundly on the back and poor Legolas jumped up in alarm and ran around to them, kneeling by the Hobbit's side as he peered from one to the other.  
  
"Is he all right?" he asked Pip.  
  
"Aye," Merry rasped out as he finally cleared his windpipe. "I just swallowed wrong, Master Legolas. Please do not be concerned about me. Sit down again and finish your meal, please," he pleaded.  
  
Legolas straddled the bench next to Merry and quietly watched the pair as he took another bite of the jam-coated way-bread.  
  
"What," he began and stopped as a light flush crept into his fair cheeks. "What did Gandalf say about me?" he finally asked, absentmindedly running one hand through his wild mane as the other tugged at his open tunic. He was very unnerved by the meeting with the famous Maia that morning, for he had hoped to be more formally attired before presenting himself for the wizard's approval.  
  
Pippin noticed the elf's unconsciously anxious movements and chortled in a distinctly slimy sort of way that made Legolas look up sharply and blush darker.  
  
It was just as he feared; Mithrandir must have found his dishevelled appearance and lack of finesse appalling. The Istar must think him a complete rustic, and when he learned the news Legolas brought, well; there was no hole secret enough to crawl into to escape the angry disgust the wizard would direct upon him.  
  
"He said you were delightful, Legolas," blurted Merry, for he was more sensitive than Pip and felt badly for the elf's obvious embarrassment, even if he completely misinterpreted the cause for it.  
  
"Did he?" Legolas' hopeful tones were heart wrenching.  
  
"Aye, and he also said he was quite pleased with your demonstration." added Pippin with less compassion and more lurid glee. Merry's foot found his cousin's shin this time.  
  
A small frown creased the young elf's brow, for he did not understand what Pippin was implying with his lightly sarcastic tone. Elrond had talked Legolas into shooting a few targets for Mithrandir's edification. He had been tired and had to borrow a weapon from one of the Imladrian archers, since his own bow was in his rooms. The results had not been perfect, but neither had he missed a single bull's eye. He sighed and his shoulders slumped a little.  
  
"I know my aim was a bit to the left and my release was slow, but I had ridden hard through the night and the dawn and was weary already," he mumbled dejectedly as he rose from the bench. "I will leave you two good folk now and take to the baths. I was on Mirvain's back all morning and have yet to get myself cleaned up. Namarie, mellyn nin," he said with hollow cheeriness as he made his way toward the main house.  
  
"Namarie, Legolas," called Merry.  
  
"Aye, rest well," said Pippin.  
  
As Legolas passed through the entrance he met Lindir on his way out and bowed politely aside to let the older elf go first. The Wood Elf thought he detected the faintest hint of a disapproving sniff as the minstrel swept by and hurried on his way. Legolas proceeded into the house with the unpleasant sensation of being watched and glanced back to find Lindir glaring at him with undisguised scorn.  
  
Taken aback, the young elf gasped and nearly ran to his rooms, overcome with the fear that everyone in Elrond's home must know the wizard's poor opinion of him, Merry's reassurances notwithstanding.  
  
Once the sylvan youth had disappeared inside the passageways of the main house, Lindir turned to continue on his way. He took no more than two steps, however, before halting, a sly grin curving up the corners of his lips. The Hobbits' subdued voices were audibly distinct to any elf in a ten-meter radius, and the singer paused to eavesdrop.  
  
"Can you believe it?" giggled Pip. "They certainly grow them wild and wanton in the Woodland Realm."  
  
"I don't know what to think, Pip. Legolas looked upset when he left," rejoined Merry.  
  
"Nay, he was just tired. By the Old Took, I know I would be if I had been up all night bedding 'Glorfindel's favourite stud'."  
  
Out in the little courtyard garden dividing the cookhouse from the mansion, the minstrel's jaws gaped wide and he had to cover the gulf quickly with his hand to muffle the gasp of shocked surprise that would have alerted the Halflings to his presence.  
  
"Maybe. I just think something is wrong."  
  
"Oh, I agree; it is very wrong, in a very funny and scandalous way. What do you suppose his 'duties' with Glorfindel are, eh? The Balrog slayer wants him well rested and prepared. Do you suppose he beds them both, to prevent jealousy?" Pip burbled excitedly.  
  
That was quite enough for Lindir. The minstrel of Lord Elrond's court had followed the Hobbits to learn precisely who the Wood Elf's lover was, and now had all the facts he needed. After all, everyone in Imladris knew that 'Glorfindel's stud' was the Balrog slayer's pet name for his paramour. And everyone in Imladris knew that Glorfindel's beau was Elrohir, youngest twin of Lord Elrond's twin sons.  
  
Well, everyone except the Hobbits, Legolas, and Lord Elrond, that is.  
  
Lindir turned and hurried back into the house, eager to share this knew information.  
  
"That is too outrageous. How could he just go from one to the other like that?" Merry shook his head, not really finding the situation funny anymore.  
  
"Maybe that's the price he pays for sharing 'Glorfindel's favourite stud'. And who says he goes from one to the other; maybe he takes them both on at once," Pip snickered. "I still can't believe he allowed Elrond and Gandalf to watch them. Legolas is so beautiful! Can you imagine what he looks like naked, Merry? Wonder if we can get him to let us know the next time he wants to have sex on the lawn." Pippin was thoroughly enjoying his erotic mental imagery.  
  
"Pip! I think he felt pressured to do it, what with Elrond asking and all. I fear he is regretting it now."  
  
"Oh, Merry. Didn't you hear him? His only regret is that he might not have performed as well as he would when fully rested. He obviously has no moral reservations about public displays of affection."  
  
"Well, I would like to see this other elf and find out how he is holding up."  
  
"Excellent idea! I very much want to have a look at 'Glorfindel's stud'." Pippin found the nickname absolutely hilarious and seemed to enjoy saying it very much.  
  
Just as the Hobbits were cleaning up their snack debris, the bright rectangle of the open doorway momentarily darkened with the bulk of two elves, male and female. They carried large armloads of apple wood and both nodded politely to the guests as they moved over to the hearth. Merry and Pippin knew them well, they were Tegilbor [Caligraphist] and Bessain [Female bread-giver], two of the chefs.  
  
"Oh, Tegilbor. What is that wonderful sauce you are making?" thrilled Merry, hoping for an invitation to sample it and his wish was fulfilled.  
  
"It is a recipe I learned from one of the Rohan captains who were here last winter, Merry. It is very tangy and made mostly with tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and spice. Taste it and see if it is hearty enough," the chef laughed as the Halfling scurried over to the bubbling pot and dipped in the offered spoon.  
  
While his cousin blew on the boiling sauce, Pippin approached Bessain and helped her as she neatly stacked the wood on the hearth.   
  
"Bessain, I am sure you must be acquainted with everyone in Imladris, for you make the best lembas ever," he said courteously, and the cook smiled kindly at the praise. "I was wondering if you might know where we can find Mirvain?"  
  
"Mirvain?" Bessain's brows quirked in surprised confusion. "I suppose you might try the stables."  
  
"Oh ho! You two best watch out, now. Mirvain does not have so generous a nature as some. He only tolerates the touch of Glorfindel, and that young Wood Elf, Legolas," warned Tegilbor.  
  
"Thank you," said Merry, "We will be careful; and the sauce is excellent," and with these words the two friends turned and hurried out behind the cookhouse heading for the paddocks, having completely forgotten all about Sam's snack.  
  
Tbc

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
Legolas had never before found the journey through the resplendent halls of Elrond's magnificent abode to take so long, be so tedious, or so lacking in means to secure anonymity, but this day he experienced all three sensations concurrently. With eyes cast down and head bowed, the youthful First Born let his long legs carry him with less than lightness and grace toward his modestly appointed room in the guest wing of the Last Homely House. Because he was looking more at the confused thoughts and feelings whirling through his brain than the corridors he traversed, the hapless elf carelessly careened into a side table, overturning it and spilling a lovely arrangement of blue irises to the floor as well.  
  
In dismay he knelt to clean up his mess and thus failed to observe the stately elf whose head peered out from the portal of the library to learn what all the commotion was about. It was Erestor, venerable countryman of the Lord of Imladris and trusted advisor to the sheltered valley's protector. The noble Noldo could not suppress a grin of delight at the sight before him, admiring the slender build and unparalleled beauty of the barefoot, sylvan elf.  
  
Having nothing else at hand to use to sop up the large puddle of water from the broken vase, Legolas had removed his short tunic and was mopping up the water with the rumpled garment, unconsciously displaying a rippling invitation to open-mouthed ogling in the fine-toned muscles of his archer's physique.  
  
The elder elda sighed a wistful and hopeful breath. That sound caught the youth's attention and he froze.  
  
"My, my, Legolas, what a sight you are! Have you no clothing, no shoes for your feet? Mind you, I am not complaining of the view, just expressing my curiosity," joked Erestor, and was unprepared for the volatility of the Wood Elf's response.  
  
"Oh!" Legolas jumped up in consternation and turned to see the bemused, flirty expression upon the noble's face. He then glanced down at his own body and ruefully twisted the wet, wrinkled tunic in his fists, blushing darkly to have so affronted Elrond's seneschal.  
  
"I, I do have clothing, Lord Erestor. Forgive me, I was out early this morning and thought to be back hours ago, and, and…Excuse me." The agitated elf could not come up with any rational explanation for his irregular appearance and suddenly turned and bolted madly down the hallway; desperate just to be as far away from this latest humiliation as he could possibly get.   
  
Legolas hurried toward his chambers, eyes bright with unshed tears, his tread heavy with the sorrow of his downcast heart. He had so wanted to make a good impression on Mithrandir. He had been trying terribly hard ever since he became a regular messenger to Imladris to make the elves accept him, and he had thought he was making progress in that regard until now.  
  
The meeting with Mithrandir had been his undoing; Legolas could see that now. He had expected the wizard to embody the commanding authority only the wisest and strongest possessed, belying the physical appearance he presented when viewed from afar, even to keen elven vision. The Wood Elf had not been disappointed. One glimpse into the Istar's sharp, piercing black eyes and the power and majesty of the Maia had been openly revealed. Legolas had been deeply disturbed, for it seemed that gaze had read to the very depths of his heart, and thereafter he felt the wizard's presence physically, a dynamic force dancing through his being.   
  
Now, just thinking the renowned Istar scorned him had turned the Wood Elf's perennial grace and charm into lead-footed stumbling and tongue-tied stuttering. The youth was so overcome with his embarrassment that he failed to notice when a door opened onto the hallway and an elf emerged into his path. Legolas plowed headlong into the unsuspecting elda and down they went in a crash of flailing arms, legs, and hair. The Wood Elf stared in stricken remorse at his victim, none other than his dear friend Elrohir, one half of the famed team of Orc hunters from Imladris.  
  
Elrohir smiled, not in the least upset to find himself entangled with a beautiful, nearly naked sylvan.  
  
"I am flattered, Legolas, really I am. However, my heart belongs to Glorfindel," the younger twin quipped.  
  
"Sorry!" Legolas exclaimed and paled as he tried to disengage himself without touching the Imladrian prince anywhere improper. "I was not watching where I was going." The young elda offered his hand and helped the Noldo up. And then his friend's words registered more clearly. "Glorfindel? Really?"  
  
"Do not be worried, no harm is done," said Elrohir, brushing down his hair and smoothing his tunic. "Aye, Glorfindel." He smiled gently at his friend's surprise, but Legolas still seemed beset by woe.  
  
Elrohir looked carefully at the youth; something must be amiss for Legolas to be so careless, he realised. One glance at the glittering brilliance of those blue eyes was all that was required, and suddenly Elrohir understood that the Wood Elf was on the verge of tears.  
  
"Legolas, whatever is wrong? What has happened to upset you so?" The Orc slayer became alarmed as he registered the elf's state of undress and the damp, crumpled garment still grasped in his hands. "Does this have something to do with why you are carrying your tunic instead of wearing it?" If someone had been rough with Legolas, Elrohir did not know what he would do. The very idea of someone taking advantage of the young elf made him murderously enraged. Why, Legolas was an innocent, barely past his majority.  
  
"Aye, it does, but…Oh! Nay! Not like that, Elrohir. I have not been…that is; no one has…" Legolas blundered incoherently, trying to defuse his friend's rising wrath.  
  
Elrohir gripped the young elf's arms and gazed deeply into the watery blue depths, trying to discern the truth of this garbled denial, and relaxed a bit.  
  
"You are certain, Legolas?"  
  
"Elrohir!" Legolas blushed again. "I think I would know."  
  
"Alright. I am glad; I have no wish to murder one of my own countrymen for besmirching your honour, my friend," the dark-haired prince grinned at Legolas' exasperated eye-roll and threw his arm affectionately around the slender shoulders. "Then tell me what is the matter? Come, you will feel better when you have told me all about it," he coaxed as he guided Legolas down the hall to the room at the very end, which was the one assigned to the Woodland elf.  
  
"Ai! I know not how things have turned out so badly. Everyone in Imladris must think me a backwoods country cousin, uncouth and ill mannered, with no sense of decorum or grace. I fear I have just confirmed all the negative ideas that abound concerning Wood Elves."  
  
"Surely it cannot be that bad," laughed Elrohir as he ushered him in and shut the door.  
  
Back in the library, Erestor sighed and shifted the papers around on his overflowing desk. He was in no mood to resume his work after the abrupt and rather amusing encounter with the fair child from Mirkwood. Especially after the things Lindir had told him earlier. Public sex! Gandalf and Elrond watching! He could hardly believe it, and indeed was so sceptical he had sent Lindir after the Halflings to gather more information. What ever was taking the minstrel so long to return?  
  
If he had known Legolas was so uninhibited about sexual matters, Erestor would have propositioned him long ago. The Wood Elf had everyone thinking he was still untouched, for Menel's sake. He was quite alluring in a charmingly simple sort of back-to-nature kind of way. Oh, he lacked the refined elegance of Lindir and the stately roguish charm of Glorfindel, but he was undeniably an incredible beauty, and Erestor found he was more than a little aroused.  
  
Images of the finely toned back, velvety skin rolling as the hard, well-defined muscles flexed with the elf's efforts to scrub up the floor, kept invading his mind and scattering his thoughts. When he ought to be carefully reading a trade proposal for horses from Rohan, he found he was imagining what the rest of Legolas' body was like unclothed. Erestor thought of the long, slender feet and vividly pictured what this might portend for a certain other area of elven male anatomy. The raven-haired seneschal smiled a lewd, lascivious leer and licked his crimson lips hungrily.  
  
As Erestor was thus engaged in an incredibly erotic daydream involving Legolas, silk scarves, and the very desk where he was seated, Lindir hurried into the room.  
  
"Erestor! It is far worse than I could ever have imagined," the minstrel spoke as soon as he was in the room, and Erestor jumped, called out of his pleasurable wool-gathering.  
  
"Why? How is knowing our young Woodland friend likes it rough and randy a bad thing?" demanded the Noldo noble.  
  
"Oh, you best put all such thoughts from your mind, mellon nin." cautioned Lindir. "Our Woodland friend is bedding none other than Elrohir. When Glorfindel finds out he will be blinded with jealousy. I would not want to be in Legolas' place."  
  
Erestor's eyes grew large and his mouth dropped open, and Lindir nodded sympathetically, knowing just what the seneschal was feeling.  
  
"Elrohir? That cannot be right," Erestor intoned in shocked syllables.  
  
The two Noldor were so intent upon their topic of discussion that they failed to hear the faint tread of elven footsteps drawing near the library door, which still stood open from Lindir's hasty entrance. At the mention of the Lord's youngest son, the unseen elf halted in mid-stride.  
  
"Of course it is not right! How can it be right to have wild public sex with someone else's soulmate?"  
  
"Nay, Lindir. Think on what you are saying. Would Elrond stand by and calmly watch his youngest twin take part in such an exposition with anyone, much less that backwater sylvan?"  
  
"WHAT!?"  
  
This loud exclamation echoed from the hallway and made both elves cringe even before the intrepid Balrog slayer strode into the library, eyes blazing with fury and every muscle tense right down to his huge, hard fists. Glorfindel grabbed Lindir by the collar of his tunic and shook him roughly.  
  
"That is a lie! Elrohir would never bed that Wood Elf! Where is he? I will kill him!" he shouted out in a rapid stream and shoved the minstrel back against Erestor as he wheeled and practically ran from the room.  
  
"Oh no!" groaned Lindir.  
  
"Hurry, we must get Elrond, only he can stop Glorfindel." Erestor urged his friend into action and the two took off in the direction of the Healing Wing of the venerable house.  
  
Meanwhile, Pip and Merry strolled companionably into the stable yard and entered the cool, shaded corridor of the immaculate barn. The place smelled of sweet hay and crunchy oats, and that delightful aroma of horse that is just unlike any other scent. They heard someone humming and approached the stall from whence the sound emanated. Dragging a bale of hay over to aid in discovering the occupant's identity, they climbed up to see above the wall and smiled broadly at the man within.  
  
"Strider! How are you this morning?" called Merry.  
  
"I am well, my friends," the Ranger grinned back and continued currying his horse's coat. "What are you two up to today? I do not believe I have ever seen you near the stables before."  
  
"We were told Mirvain is here. Have you seen him?" rejoined Pip.  
  
"Aye, he is in the stall at the end on the left. What do you want with him?" the man asked, curious. The small folk were more often than not fearful of the spirited elven horses, and Mirvain was possibly the most spirited of them all. "It is better to leave him be."  
  
"We became interested to meet the one who has such a strong claim on the Wood Elf. Legolas told us he spends every free moment with Mirvain," replied Merry and the two jumped down and hurried to the stall indicated.  
  
"Alright, I suppose he should be in good humour after a morning with Legolas." They heard Strider laugh and then resume his pleasingly tuneless melody.  
  
The Hobbits again required the assistance of an opportune bale to see over the imposing walls of the stallion's stall. They peered admiringly at the coal-black equine in the box.  
  
The imperious steed was calmly munching a mouthful of hay, lazily lounging with one back leg bent at the knee and the hock, dipping his hip at a rakish angle, which gave the impression he was slouching against the wall with his legs crossed. Mirvain gazed from one to the other of the peculiar little beings and twitched his ears as he blew a loud snort through his nostrils.  
  
The Hobbits drew back, and Pip frowned; he could almost swear that horse smirked at them. He shared a perplexed look with Merry and both jumped down and trotted back to Strider.  
  
"He is not there, Strider," began Merry petulantly.  
  
"What? If that is so we must catch him at once. Mirvain has a wicked temper and could harm someone," the human exited the stall and hurried down the hallway, stopping with a relieved breath when he reached Mirvain's abode.  
  
"What are you playing at?" he demanded of his small friends in irritation. "He is right there. Did you look in the wrong stall?"  
  
It was then that Pippin noticed the beautifully polished golden nameplate above the stable door, elegantly engraved with the name Mirvain. He elbowed Merry and pointed, and the second Hobbit stared for a second and then burst out laughing. The two were soon laughing so hard they were doubled over and weeping.  
  
"Glorfindel's favourite stud!" Merry choked out.  
  
"Riding all morning!" Pippin's garbled response followed.  
  
Strider stared, smiling at their mirth but failing to see the humour in their joke.  
  
"Care to fill me in?" he suggested, but it took a few minutes for the Hobbits to get control of their emotions. Finally, they wiped away the tears and told the man the entire tale.  
  
Yet Strider did not seem to find the situation amusing, and the two Hobbits sobered up completely at that.  
  
"I hope you have not repeated this story to anyone," he admonished. "Gossip like that could ruin Legolas' reputation. He is already looked down on by many of the Noldor, as they do all the Wood Elves. If this rumour gets out, he will not be able to hold his head up. And should Glorfindel hear it, I fear for the young one's very life." Strider briefly explained about his foster brother and the hero of Gondolin.  
  
"Nay," Merry assured him. "We already promised Sam we would not mention it to anyone."  
  
"Sam! Just wait till I get my hands on him! What was he thinking telling us nonsense like that?" Pippin seethed, for he had not imagined the outcome could be so unpleasant for Legolas. Then again, that is because he had been too caught up in the idea that ethereally beautiful Legolas was loose, immoral, and promiscuous. Remembering the kind and open-hearted demeanour of the young Wood Elf, he suddenly felt ashamed for having thought of him in such a dirty way.  
  
Together, the man and the Hobbits left the stables, intent on going to Sam and setting him straight on the matter so no further misunderstandings would emerge from that source.  
  
Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Mighty Glorfindel stormed down the passageway in search of his lover's secret paramour, imagining how to end the brazen youth's immortal existence. He thought he might dismember him, starting with a particularly sensitive appendage first, which he would force the crass Wood Elf to swallow whole before proceeding to hack him up into little tiny pieces. Yes, that would be very satisfying.  
  
But no, he could not actually kill the sylvan. Even though Legolas was the lowest sort of elda he was still an elf, and the Noldor had enough of a bad reputation for kin-slaying as it was. Glorfindel halted and sighed, attempting to calm himself before proceeding.  
  
As long as the Woodland fornicator survived, no one would hold Glorfindel to blame for exacting retribution. Or at least, he would be quickly forgiven. Now, what manner of repayment could the Balrog slayer demand for so gross an infraction upon elven law and custom? The hero of Gondolin smiled a slow, cruel grin as he drew his dagger from its sheath and tested the fine edge of its blade against his thumb.  
  
Of course, it was the perfect solution. He would geld the youth and thus ensure he would never again so dishonour the bond between soulmates.  
  
As for Elrohir, well, Glorfindel had already decided to forgive his lover. It was all that Wood Elf's doing; everyone knew they practiced dark magics in their gloomy woods. Why, they had enchanted an entire river for Menel's sake! It was even rumoured they had domesticated the giant spiders, training them to savour only the taste of dwarven flesh, thus discouraging the children of Aulë from using the Forest Road. It would be an easy thing for Legolas to summon a spell of enthrallment upon Elrohir.  
  
Just as he resumed his march down the hall, Glorfindel heard the sound of a door opening and caught the strains of his lover's fair laughter floating on the air. Quickly the blond elda ducked into the nearest room, one of the baths for this wing, and peeked cautiously around the door's jam to see what Elrohir was doing. His eyes blazed anew and it took every ounce of self-disciplined control he possessed for the Balrog slayer to remain still and quiet, for his lover was exiting the chambers of none other than that disgusting seducer, Legolas.  
  
"Go and get your bath, Legolas. I have kept you from it long enough," Elrohir was saying as he stood in the hall before the open door.  
  
"Thank you, Elrohir," Legolas said and spontaneously threw his arms around the twin and hugged him. "That is just what I needed! I feel much better now for your kind consolation and advice."  
  
Elrohir laughed and patted the sylvan's naked back gently. "Anytime, mellon nin, anytime. Off with you now, Glorfindel expects you on the archery range this afternoon to provide some healthy competition for his warriors, and I daresay you could use a little rest beforehand."  
  
The two broke their light embrace and Legolas smiled as he shut his door. Elrohir turned and ambled away down the hall as Glorfindel retreated fully into the bathing room. The younger twin did not notice his lover there at all.  
  
As he passed by, Glorfindel looked out again and watched him walk away, noticing the Orc slayer was holding something in his hand. Again Glorfindel's wrath boiled close to eruption and he strained to prevent himself from bolting after his lover and snatching away the offending cloth. He had recognized the material of the tunic Legolas had been wearing that very morning. Elrohir meant to keep a souvenir of their encounter!  
  
Glorfindel settled his bulk against a hamper for soiled laundry with all the menace of a viper coiled for assault and waited for Legolas to appear, eager to put his knife to work on the vile elf's privates.  
  
Erestor and Lindir burst into Frodo's room in the Healing wing and found the Lord of Imladris and Gandalf quietly speaking with the recovering Ringbearer in gentle and reassuring tones as Sam stood by the bedside. The two Noldor started talking at once and Elrond frowned as he tried to make some sense out of their wild ranting.   
  
"Elrond! Hurry, you must stop Glorfindel!" shouted Erestor, his features presenting a disquieting amalgamation of panic and guilt.  
  
"Yes, my Lord, the Wood Elf's life is at stake!" Lindir was rocking back and forth on his heels and at one point convulsively clutched Elrond's sleeve.  
  
"What? What are you talking about?" demanded Elrond.  
  
"Why would Glorfindel injure Legolas?" asked Gandalf.  
  
"Because he thinks Legolas is carrying on with his lover behind his back!" shouted Erestor.  
  
"Please, my Lord, there is no time for explanations now. Glorfindel is already on his way to find Legolas," added Lindir.  
  
Sam could not suppress a sharp inhalation and all attention riveted upon him as his eyes darted from one to the other, resting finally upon his elegant host.  
  
"I made them promise not to tell anyone, Lord Elrond, I swear I did. I never meant the Wood Elf to be hurt. I had no idea Mirvain was Glorfindel's lover, too!" the poor Hobbit sobbed and covered his face with his hands.  
  
"Oh, Sam, what have you done?" cried Frodo softly in weary, aggrieved tones.  
  
But the rest of the room's occupants were staring at the gardener with confused and rather sickened expressions masking their faces.  
  
"Mirvain?" scoffed Erestor. "My dear Hobbit, Mirvain is a horse."  
  
"What?" Sam parted his fingers and chanced a glance at Elrond, but closed them back quickly upon meeting the forbidding scowl of the Noldo Lord.  
  
It was at this point in the conversation that Merry, Pippin, and Strider arrived, and Pippin frowned furiously at Sam while Merry rushed to Frodo.  
  
"Oh, you're awake! Do you feel better, Frodo?" he said.  
  
"Much better, Merry. Now what is all this about?" Frodo smiled back as he spoke.  
  
"Sam, you ninny, Mirvain is a horse!" yelled Pippin. If he could have reached Sam he would have given his friend a sound smack on the head, but there were too many elves in the room blocking the way.  
  
"Aye, Elrohir is Glorfindel's lover. Do you mean to tell me this is all about a horse?" Lindir blurted out in indignation and immediately regretted his words as Elrond visibly flinched.  
  
"What did you say?" asked the Lord of Imladris quietly, but his words were packed with restrained outrage and a father's denial. Lindir closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead, mumbling something too softly for anyone to make out.  
  
"Adar, if Glorfindel believes this news, both elves may be in jeopardy. He may not think before he acts," cautioned Strider urgently. He reached over and placed a supporting hand on his foster-father's shoulders.  
  
"Aragorn is right. Elrond, I think it would be best to find Glorfindel and make sure Legolas is unharmed," Gandalf suggested. "The rest we can solve later."   
  
The elf Lord sighed and smiled a feeble smile as he reached up and squeezed Strider's hand in silent thanks. Stifling his ire over his son and his loyal servant's hiding of their attachment, the Lord of Imladris charged from the room, calling for Erestor to get his healing supplies and for Gandalf to accompany him. Having a wizard around might be necessary to deter the volatile Balrog slayer if Elrond failed to calm him with reason.  
  
Erestor, Lindir, and Strider followed and Merry and Pippin hurried after them. Sam moved to join the procession but Frodo called him back.  
  
"Nay, Sam, you stay here and tell me the whole mess, right from the start," he said brusquely and Sam obediently returned to his side.  
  
En masse the group fled toward Legolas' room, desperately hoping to find him there and still breathing. As they turned the corner where the Healing Wing adjoined the main body of the house, the stampeding herd of elves, man, wizard, and Hobbits encountered Elrohir, and the elf knight was nearly run down for the second time that day.  
  
The younger twin was shocked to feel his father snatch him by the hair and yank him along with them, for Elrohir had no idea what it was all about.  
  
Legolas emerged from his room clad in a long, soft robe of clean, white cotton and nothing more. He made his way towards the bathing room feeling much calmer after talking with Elrohir.  
  
He had poured out his troubles and worries to the younger twin, for the Peredhel's admission of love for the Balrog slayer had granted Legolas the courage to confess the stirring of attraction he had felt on meeting the wise wizard. To think he had lost any chance to develop a similar response from the Istar was so utterly depressing. The Imladrian prince had easily allayed his fears and convinced him he was over reacting. Now, all Legolas needed was a thorough scrubbing and a quick nap and he would be completely set to rights again.  
  
He stepped into the bathing room and shut the door, and jumped when he turned to find Glorfindel already there. Before the young elf could even begin to formulate an apology and make his retreat, the Balrog slayer's meaty fist crashed with ferocious accuracy into Legolas' right eye.  
  
The power of the punch threw him back and he fell hard against the stone bathing basin, banging his head soundly. Momentarily stunned, the Wood Elf cringed as Glorfindel loomed over him, face contorted with rage, screaming into his ear. The battered sylvan was not able to catch on very well; his head was pounding too loudly and his hearing was distorted by a persistent ringing. He reached behind him, gingerly felt the growing bump on the back of his head, and groaned.  
  
"Impudent tart!" Glorfindel ranted. He grasped the flowing robe and ripped it away, exposing Legolas fully as he brandished his dagger before the archer's eyes. "I will make sure you never spill seed again!" So saying he reached down and grabbed the soft smooth sac holding the Wood Elf's testicles and brutally squeezed.  
  
Legolas unleashed a blood curdling scream and lay trembling under the fierce warrior's clutches. He tried to kick the elf away and received another blow to the face for that and an even more punishing compression round his abused balls.  
  
"Please, Lord Glorfindel!" the poor elf cried, and he really was crying, but Glorfindel showed no mercy and twisted the soft flesh in his hand. Legolas' high-pitched, desperate shrieks reached the throng of rescuers barreling down the hallway and they all redoubled their speed. They arrived at the door and shoved and pushed to get into the bathing room, halting in shock at the sight before them.  
  
"Glorfindel! Stop this at once!" Elrond shouted.  
  
"Take your hands off that elf!" yelled Lindir.  
  
"It was all a misunderstanding!" added Merry.  
  
"Elbereth, he is going to castrate him!" Gandalf's shocked words rang out.  
  
"Oh  _please_  do not do that, Glorfindel!" implored Erestor.  
  
"Ooooh!" groaned Pip, his face all sympathetically scrunched up as his hands dove to form a protective shield around his crotch.  
  
"Valar!" swore Aragorn, fearful to make a move lest the blade slip during the struggle and render his friend a eunuch.  
  
"Melethron, he is innocent! What are you doing?" Elrohir's frightened voice trembled as he observed his glorious lover, one hand full of Wood Elf genitalia while the other held a dagger poised to sever the youth's potency forever.  
  
And at the sound of his lover's voice, so confused and saddened and hurt, Glorfindel knew at once that Elrohir had never touched this elf, nor had Legolas seduced him with charms or enchantments. The Balrog slayer looked down at the young elf shaking in fear and agony, tears streaming from under the tightly shut grooves where his eyes were hidden. Carefully, Glorfindel let go and backed away, hastily sheathing his dagger.  
  
Legolas gasped and rolled over, placing his back to the crowd, and curled up into a ball. He drew his knees up close and buried his hands down against his nether regions and rocked himself in misery as sobs racked his slender naked frame. He was in so much pain he barely even registered the fact that this latest, ultimate degradation was on public display. He was just grateful to be whole, and silently thanked Elrohir for calling Glorfindel off in time.  
  
The assembled group breathed a collective sigh of relief.  
  
Glorfindel sheepishly hung his head in remorse. He lifted somber eyes to his younger lover in a plea for understanding.  
  
"I thought, that is; I overheard you and he were…" he began making his excuses, but Elrond cut him off brusquely.  
  
"Never mind all your rationalizing. You would spill blood in my house, Glorfindel? Innocent blood at that!" the Lord seethed. "I need to speak with you and Elrohir privately, now," the stern father growled. "Gandalf, if you would be so kind as to tend to our young friend?" A brief nod from the Istar satisfied the Noldo Lord. Still grasping his son's tresses, Elrond stalked out and the two lovers had no choice but to meekly follow.  
  
"Alright, it is over and no harm done," came Lindir's rather over optimistic assessment, earning him a disapproving grimace from Gandalf. "I… I am truly sorry about all this, Legolas." The minstrel hastily extended his apology. "Come along Erestor, you have work to do and I have to prepare for the evening's dinner music," he tugged strongly at the seneschal's sleeve.  
  
Erestor was staring, mesmerized, at the naked elf's supple and sensuous rear as it lightly rocked back and forth, and frowned when he finally realized what his friend was saying. He complied, however, and the two left the scene.  
  
Merry swallowed hard, twice, before creating enough moisture to produce words. "Legolas, please forgive us. We never meant anything like this to happen."  
  
"Oh, I feel just awful. I hope we can still be friends," added Pippin in a teary voice. He sniffed to hold back the flood, for the suffering elf had not acknowledged anyone's presence as yet, and the Hobbit didn't know if he was very, very angry or just in too much pain to care at the moment.  
  
"I think Legolas could use some privacy," said Strider to the Hobbits softly and with a hand on either shoulder steered them from the bathing room.  
  
That left the wizard with the softly whimpering elf. Somehow, the Istar had to explain to the abused youth how it was that he nearly lost his vital male accoutrements before he lost his virginity. He quietly approached and knelt down, patting the young one's back consolingly.  
  
"There now, Legolas, there now. It was all a horrible mistake. Glorfindel never meant to hurt you, I am sure."  
  
"Yes he did! He said so; he had a knife and was about to, to…" the youth stared up at the wizard with a look composed of confusion, reproach, and terror. The realization that he was stark naked in the presence of the great Istar suddenly filled his eyes and a rapid flush stained his cheeks as he dropped his head to the floor with a despairing groan.  
  
Gandalf understood and gathered up the robe, draping it over Legolas as best he could without making too much contact with his skin. The wizard sighed with a small smile; the elf was so beautiful. He reached out and brushed the long hair back from Legolas' face in a gentle touch that became more of a caress as his fingers filtered through the fine, golden threads.  
  
"And why?" the youth wailed. "What did I do to him?" His tears started afresh and he screwed his eyes shut again as he carefully extracted one hand from between his thighs and threaded it through the sleeve of the torn garment, tucking the fabric protectively up around his neck.  
  
"I know, it was frightful, but it is over and you are whole. He somehow or other thought you and Elrohir were lovers behind his back."  
  
Legolas gasped and his eyes flew open as he stared at the Maia in shock.  
  
"That is ridiculous! Elrohir is my best friend. I cannot imagine feeling that way about him. I have never even… He loves Glorfindel and would never do such a thing."  
  
The sylvan started to unwrap his folded form and winced with a hissing cry as his tender testicles brushed lightly against his leg. "Oh, Mithrandir, it hurts! I think he has ruined me!" he cried as he struggled to sit up without hurting anything or exposing himself again.  
  
Gandalf shushed in soothing sympathy as he gathered Legolas up into his arms and held him on his lap. He felt the Wood Elf's body become rigid and gently rubbed his back until Legolas relaxed.  
  
"I am sure there is no permanent damage, young one. Here, let me have a look at you," he cajoled and lifted first the elf's chin to examine the growing edema around his eye. With a gentle thumb he pressed against the bloody gash at the corner of Legolas' swollen mouth and on impulse bent to plant a soft kiss upon the hurt. He pulled back and smiled at the way Legolas' pupils dilated and a soft sigh left his bruised lips in response.  
  
"I thought," Legolas blinked and swallowed. "I thought that you found me appalling and, and coarse."  
  
"Wherever did you get such an idea?" Gandalf's brows rose high on his forehead and Legolas almost laughed at the quizzical expression this produced. "Legolas, I find you refreshingly unassuming and genuine."  
  
"But, earlier today when we met, I was such a mess and my archery was poor and I could not find proper words to say to you."  
  
"A mess?" Gandalf's rumbling laugh filled the bathing room and he carefully drew the elf into a closer embrace. "Legolas, I assure you, nothing about your physical appearance is unappealing. Your speech was brief but courteous, certainly not worthy of worry. As for the archery, I have never witnessed such skill."  
  
Back in Frodo's room, Samwise Gamgee sat in shamefaced dejection upon the soft, comfortable armchair next to his master's bedside. After listening to the entire tale, Mr. Frodo had given him a thorough scolding regarding the evils of gossip and the importance of discretion. The distraught Hobbit was waiting with a sinking heart to learn if his error had caused the young elf in question, which he had as yet never even seen, serious harm.  
  
Strider opened the door and Pippin preceded him into the room with Merry at his side. Frodo and Sam sat up in grim anticipation, scrutinizing their friends to see if anything might indicate the outcome of the Balrog slayer's wrath.  
  
"All is well," Strider assured them and sat on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Oh, thank the stars!" breathed Sam and slumped back against the chair.  
  
"Aye, we barely made it in time, and if Elrohir had not come along I am not sure Legolas would still be intact," said Pippin.  
  
"Glorfindel was about to cut off his balls!" added Merry crudely and both his friends winced at the mental image.  
  
"Oh, that poor elf!" cried Sam and covered his face as his shoulders shook under the forceful exit of fresh tears.  
  
"It didn't happen, Sam," consoled Frodo. "Didn't you hear Strider? Legolas is unharmed."  
  
"But he might have been harmed, and it's all my fault. Always goin' off exercisin' my tongue before my mind knows enough to make any sense of it."  
  
Before anyone could contradict the Halfling's self-recrimination, a loud insistent complaint issued forth from Frodo's deprived stomach. For three days he had taken little more than water and broth and medicine, and his body was ready for something more substantial.  
  
"Excuse me!" he said with a laugh, and his cousins joined in as Strider grinned. Just then, as if in answer to the rumbling, Sam's gut gave a corresponding grumble over the lack of breakfast, both first and second, as well as luncheon. "Sam!" fussed Frodo. "Did you go without meals to sit here with me?"  
  
"He did, and we told him to go get something," said Pippin.  
  
"Aye, and you said you'd bring me back a snack, if I recall," rejoined Sam.  
  
"Sam, take yourself down to the kitchens and eat; you can bring back a light meal of fruit and bread for Frodo when you're done," ordered Strider firmly.  
  
"We'll stay and keep Frodo company 'til you return," said Merry and Pip nodded agreement.  
  
Sam reluctantly acquiesced and left the room, padding down the broad, elegant hallway. Perhaps he was still befuddled by guilt, or the lack of nourishment caused a lapse in memory, but whatever the reason, Master Samwise became hopelessly lost within the labyrinthine corridors of the huge mansion.  
  
With growing irritation the Hobbit turned first down one hall and then another, peeked into open doors cautiously and doubled back twice. Eventually he came to the guest wing of the house and was at last confident he would be able to make his way out and to the kitchens. As he approached a half-opened door in the middle of the passage, he heard a most alarming cry of distress issue from the room beyond and halted.   
  
"Just relax now, Legolas. I will be as gentle as I can be," the wizard's voice drifted out clearly as he dropped his hand down onto the trembling elf's legs, rigidly drawn up again in a protective barrier shielding his genitals.  
  
"Ai! That hurts!" moaned the elf, and several rapid and audible panting breaths followed the utterance.  
  
"I know, but it will not take me much time to finish and I promise it will not be painful for very long."  
  
Sam's eyes grew large as he comprehended this statement, put two and two together, and derived the incorrect result. Again.   
  
Carefully the wizard pried open the knees protecting Legolas' injured scrotum and patted the elf's shoulder when he grabbed a handful of the long, grey beard for comfort.  
  
"Are you ready?" Mithrandir kindly said and waited for the elf's ragged breathing to subside before proceeding with the examination.  
  
Legolas held his breath, shut his eyes, buried his face against the Istar's shoulder, and prepared for more searing pain. Though Gandalf's touch was exceedingly gentle as he cautiously inspected him, Legolas could not help flinching and cried out again when the wizard palpated the delicate sac to make sure the glands within were not ruptured. Finally, it was over and Legolas exhaled a long, loud sigh of relief as Mithrandir lightly laughed.  
  
It was more than Sam could bear. He covered his burning ears with his hands to prevent hearing any more sounds of elven passion. And he certainly had no desire to learn what sort of noises a wizard made during such activity. He fled off down the hall past the bathing room making a very noisy Hobbity thumping with his broad, hairy feet.  
  
"What was all that racket?" asked Legolas, snuggling against the powerful body of the renowned Istar as he stared into the penetrating gaze of the compelling black eyes, and noted with surprise how nice the silky strands of Gandalf's beard felt against his bare chest.  
  
"I am not certain, one of the Halflings, perhaps. Do you think you can rise?" Mithrandir shrugged off the clamour, more interested in his pleasing burden.  
  
"I think so. I never did get a bath, how annoying."   
  
"By all means, have a good soak. The warm water will be very soothing and should help those bruises heal up more quickly. You will be good as new in no time," encouraged the wizard and helped Legolas up.  
  
"Alright. Mithrandir? Thank you for, well, just thank you," said the youth awkwardly, clutching the robe close around him once more to reclaim his modesty and his composure.  
  
"Think nothing of it, dear Legolas. When your bath is done, I want you to go back to your room and try to sleep for a bit. I will come and check on you later," Mithrandir smiled as he exited, pulling the door shut as he went, but abruptly stopped and popped his head back around the barrier. " And you must call me Olorín from now on, at least when we are alone together."  
  
"Very well, Olorín," the shy youth murmured as his eyes betrayed his excited joy.  
  
Gandalf smiled and left him then, shutting the door quietly and turning down the hall in the direction of the kitchens. He was fairly certain which Hobbit had been listening in on his tete-a-tete with Legolas and felt he needed to set Sam straight on a number of serious issues.  
  
Gandalf sighed as he progressed, both his step and his heart lighter than they had been in many a long year. He was looking forward to the days ahead and made a mental note to thank Elrond for the opportunity to frame a bond with the magnificent young archer. The Maia could not keep his grin from expanding as he replayed the events of the last few moments, treasuring the complete trust the elf had shown, relishing the image of Legolas nude, cherishing the feel of his warm, soft skin.  
  
Truly, Legolas had a remarkably fine seat.  
  
Finis!  
  



End file.
